Cultural Relativism
by Peechy-Keen
Summary: Beliefs and customs should be understood in terms of culture; 'normal' for one people may be utterly bizarre to another. Growing up in the sewers apart from human contact can leave gaps in the guys' knowledge of human culture. A collection of one-shots in which the turtles encounter normal practices that they find anything BUT normal. Chapter 5: Donatello & April
1. Leg Beards

Wrapped in nothing but a worn towel following her shower, April stood with her soap-lathered leg poised on the rim of the bathtub as she gently skimmed a razor over her skin. It was her final pre-bed ritual, and then glorious sleep awaited her. Just as she extended her arm and began to drag the razor across her leg again, a familiar voice chirped.

"Hey, April! Sorry to bother you this late, but Donny wan—whatcha doin'?"

April jumped at the interruption, completely caught off guard by the silent entry of her unwelcome visitor—in her _bathroom_ of all places—at this hour. She had only known the boys for little more than a week, and they were already becoming bold regarding visiting hours. Apparently _very_ bold.

Her abrupt motion caused her arm to jerk, and she nicked herself with the sharp edge of the razor. As a steady trickle of blood began to descend down her leg, she bit her lip and swore, reaching for the roll of toilet paper hanging from the spindle in the wall nearby. Tearing off a length with one hand, she hastily pressed it to the cut and pointed the razor at Michelangelo with an accusatory swipe of her hand.

"Mikey!" she scolded, giving the offensive object a threatening shake, "Look what you made me—" The sentence was abruptly cut off as April's expression went blank. She was half-naked, dripping in a towel under the curious scrutiny of a teenage guy—turtle or no. "OUT, OUT, OUT!" Face turning red with mortification, she clutched the towel against her chest and pointed insistently at the door.

At first there was no immediate response to her demand; Mikey's blue eyes merely widened in utter bafflement at her sudden distress. Then April's gaze acquired a dangerous glint as it came to rest on the unassuming loofah lying on the rim of the tub.

The startled turtle frantically retreated at the human's bizarre squawks of indignation, ducking with hands covering his head to avoid the projectile as it launched over him and smacked against the far wall. What even _was_ that thing? Catching a quick glimpse of the perforated object as he hurtled over it and scrambled through the doorway, Mikey could only assume it was a ratty old dog chew-toy. Of all the objects that he had seen washed down the sewers over the years, it was the closest match he could think of. Though why she would want it in her shower was beyond him. He was a little too preoccupied at the moment to think about it much anyway.

* * *

"Sooooooo… why were you cutting yourself?"

Mikey sat idly on the edge of April's kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth as they dangled in the air—toes just short of the linoleum. He winced as he watched her clean the cut on her leg and apply a band-aid. Injuries looked so much worse on humans than they did on him or his brothers, especially from this close up. The squishy pink skin seemed so fragile compared to their thicker, leathery green skin. Almost as if it would bruise to the touch.

"I wasn't _cutting_ myself," April grumped as she put the medical supplies back into their proper cabinet. "I was shaving. Or, at least, _trying_ to." She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder.

Though the reason for her disapproval was lost on him, Mikey still ducked his head in abashed repentance to appease her, at the same time cocking his head inquisitively at the unfamiliar word. "You were… what?"

"Shaving." April clicked the cabinet shut and turned her head to regard Michelangelo with an odd look. This conversation was getting awkward. "You know… removing hair?"

That seemed to surprise him.

"Wait, humans have hair on their _legs_?" Mikey immediately thought of Master Splinter, and then superimposed April over the mental image, wrinkling his snout at the idea of her covered in a thick mat of fur. He knew humans had hair on their _heads_. Crazy lengths; all kinds of bizarre colors. But on their _bodies_, too? He always assumed they were more like him and his brothers in that regard: hairless.

Watching the reactions dance openly across Michelangelo's face, April couldn't suppress a small smile as it quirked her lips, in spite of her previous aggravation with the turtle. "Yeah."

Mikey rubbed his own bald head thoughtfully as he spoke. "Why do you cut it off then? Shouldn't you be happy with how you're born? I mean, nature knows best, right?"

"It's—" she paused, not entirely sure herself, come to think of it. "Smooth skin is considered beautiful," she offered with a noncommittal shrug.

The thought of a shaved, hairless Master Splinter made Mikey snicker. Beautiful? Right. "Why?" He pinned April with an expression mixed between genuine curiosity and lingering amusement as his brain still toyed with the idea of a hairless sensei and a hairy April.

"Oh, I don't _know_, Michelangelo… It just is." She really wanted to change the subject now. It was weird talking about shaving around normal people, let alone green mutants with a case of culture shock. "Anyway, why on earth did you walk in on me like that, you little skeez!"

"Like what?" Mikey's expression was sincerely confused now.

"In the bathroom. I was half-naked," she stated flatly, deadpanning.

"So? I'm all-naked. Well… sorta." He indicated his mask, belt, and protective pads with a general sweep of his hand, "And that doesn't seem to bother _you_." There was no sarcasm or defensive tone. He was merely stating fact.

April opened her mouth to retort but snapped it shut. He had a point. "That's… different. Just knock or something next time."

"Why?"

She was beginning to hate that word. "Just do it, Mikey," April sighed in exasperation. "It's rude to see other peop—_humans_—naked, or close to it. It just is."

Mikey wanted to point out that he had seen men shirtless and women in bikinis—which provided even _less_ coverage than a towel, if you asked him—on MTV all the time and it didn't seem to bother anybody then, but he held his tongue for once. He wasn't too keen on fleeing the assault of another chew toy to the head just yet.

"If you say so, Ape..." He looked askance at her now, a new question burning in his eyes. "So, about this shaving thing… Is that why some dudes have beards and some don't? They cut them off?" The idea of leg hair as thick as beards popped into his head unbidden and made him cringe a little. Maybe shaving wasn't all that bad of an idea after all.

April arched her eyebrows. Now _that_ was a bizarre question to answer, seeing as it came from a teenage guy, directed at a woman of all audiences. She smirked. "Of course! What did you think before today?"

Mikey shrugged. "I always thought they were just… _born_ with it, or something."

The idea of babies with beards had April cracking a grin now. But she wasn't prepared for the question that came next.

"…So all women shave their beards, too, I guess?"

And now she was laughing, her prior irritation forgotten in the hilarity of the moment. Shaking her head in amusement as she tried to stifle her chuckles at Mikey's look of bewilderment, she gently pat him on the shoulder. Her voice still hinted at laughter as she replied, "Mike, you have a _lot _to learn about us."


	2. Make a Wish

Late one fall night Donatello and April found themselves on a walk through Central Park. It had been April's idea. After working for hours together trying to purge some bugs in Don's new security network for the Lair, she suggested they take a break and get out for some fresh air.

The dried boughs of the trees rustled around them, and leaf litter crackled under their feet as they silently made their way through the twisting paths of the park.

Don hunched his shoulders, barely suppressing a shiver beneath his thin jacket as a chilled breeze tickled the exposed skin around his neck and face.

April caught the movement from the corner of her eye and studied him curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Feeling his nerves skip at the sound of her voice interrupting the calm, Don regarded April timidly and gave his head a quick, stiff shake to dismiss her concern. The way her green eyes locked with his made his stomach curl. It was an inexplicable—and increasingly frequent—physical phenomenon that he still didn't quite understand.

Though she arched her eyebrows skeptically, April shrugged off her questions and continued admiring the effect of the moonlight shifting through the trees.

Soon another wind whipped up—colder than the last as it whistled down the walkway with a low howl. Don winced against the bitter onslaught, body wracked with a pronounced shudder.

"Donny," April sternly coaxed, pinning him with a calculating look, "It's not _that _cold. Are you getting sick, maybe? Because we can head back now if you—"

"No, it's fine," Donny cut in gently, shoving his chapped hands in his pockets as they began to sting. "I'm not sick; it's simply our nature. Turtles are cold-blooded, and though my brothers and I share many genetic similarities with humans, some aspects of our dual physiology are merged." He decided to embellish with an example when her expression still appeared uncertain. "For instance, we can tolerate colder temperatures more efficiently than ordinary turtles, but compared with humans, we are a bit more… sensitive to environmental extremes, if you will." Afraid he had rambled, he clammed up and looked down as he walked, measuring the length of his steps by using the cracks in the sidewalk as a scale of reference.

Another gust streaked by them and Donatello shivered again, effectively proving his point. He curled in on himself and absently lengthened his stride in a bid to warm up. April was nearly jogging to keep pace.

"Easy, strider," she cautioned, voice hinting at good-natured laughter as she fell into step with him once more. "You should have said something! Here." She companionably slipped her arm through his and pressed close, sharing her body heat. "Better?"

At first Donny nearly tripped in surprise. Quickly mastering his unsteady legs, he held his body rigid at the physical contact and managed to mumble his thanks.

She offered a helpful smile. "I never realized you guys had a problem like that. And here I was getting on _Mikey's_ case for being ignorant about _humans_."

Don could only jerk a nod in response. His vocal chords were presently inoperable, and for some reason he felt numb—but not from the cold. Quite the contrary, actually: he was flooded with excessive warmth now. To a fault it seemed. His face felt like it was burning.

Too soon he found himself working up a sweat, and he vaguely wondered if April would be uncomfortably warm now, considering how he was sweltering at her touch.

The ensuing minutes passed in blurred tunnel vision for Donatello, and before he knew it they were standing before Bethesda Fountain. The bronze angel gracing the center of the pool gazed down at them softly, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat when he saw a young couple sitting on the far edge of the fountain across from them. The man whispered something in the woman's ear and she smiled, oblivious to the new arrivals.

It was fortunate that the couple was occupied. Donatello wasn't too keen on attracting any unwanted attention. Even so, he eyed them warily, ready to bolt the moment he heard a scream of terror.

"Here, Don. Make a wish!"

April snapped him out of his reverie as she shoved her upturned palm at his face, offering him a penny. Don flinched back before he realized what it was. Relaxing, he scrutinized the coin; then his eyes flicked to April's in confusion. "I appreciate the… gesture, April, but I don't need your money." He was even more surprised when she laughed at his proud rejection.

"No, no, no…" She was beginning to wonder if he and his brothers had ever heard of wishing wells before. It was a pretty odd tradition the more she thought about it. "You're not _buying_ anything with it, you goof. You throw it in the fountain and make a wish. Then it might come true."

Donny pinned April with a startled look that suggested she had taken leave of her senses. Years of scraping by in the sewers and making do with what little they could find had taught him the hard lesson of poverty. He and his brothers naturally adhered to a frugal lifestyle as a result, wasting nothing, wanting little. Impulsively throwing away material assets in order to cater to such a childish whimsy seemed so… impractical.

"Why would I do that?" he protested.

"Because it's _fun_."

"I really don't see—"

"Humor me." She pressed the penny to him insistently.

Don deliberated a moment. Finally, he relented with an internal cringe over the needless waste. Reluctantly accepting the penny in cupped hands, he looked indecisively to April for further instruction.

"First, make a wish."

Don resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes at the absurd notion, but begrudgingly complied. Gazing steadily at the fountain, he pondered what he could possibly wish for. His eyes wandered thoughtfully beyond the statue and came to rest on the couple still sitting by the edge of the fountain: their hands clasped, fingers devotedly intertwined. Involuntarily, his gaze returned to April and softened when it found those penetrating green eyes.

Offering an encouraging smile, she patiently mimicked tossing the penny into the pool, and he obediently copied her motion. As it was released, the small coin arched through the air and plunged into the water, descending to the bottom to rest amid a collection of weathered tokens. All of them sunken hopes waiting for fulfillment.

Don stared a moment longer, mesmerized, until he felt April nudge him.

"So what did you wish for?"

"Hm? What… Oh! I, uh—" he stammered nervously as his mind raced.

April smirked, waving her hand indifferently to calm him. "I'm just kidding, Don. That's the trick to wishes: you don't tell anybody. Otherwise it won't come true." She winked, gently pulling on his arm to lead him back the way they had come.

"Oh." Relief washed over him like a cold wave, and he meekly followed. "Of course."

He didn't bother to mention how his wish could never come true, regardless of what he did. After all, it was only a penny…

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I openly admit that I've always been a closet fan of poor Donny's crush on April. :3 Sue me! (That was a joke. Don't actually sue me...)**


	3. I Beg Your Pardon

**I had a few reviewers request that I write Raphael next. I was originally planning on Leo being next, but ask and ye shall receive! ;) On that note, a big thank you to all my reviewers thus far! I'm honored by how well this story has been received. You guys encourage me to both write more and improve with your feedback, as well as offer a touch of inspiration here and there (Mystic Medjai _may_ have had a hand in influencing the plot for one of my future installments...). :) Y'all rock! Without further ado, here it is!  
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Raphael stared incredulously at the television screen. _For the love of… _If he had been unconvinced before that humans were insane, any lingering doubts he presently harbored were quickly fading.

His stricken silence did not go unnoticed. Methodically peeling potatoes at the counter, April glanced up from the cutting board and curiously studied him from behind. "A penny for your thoughts, Raph?"

"A… what?" Raph craned his neck to regard her over his shoulder, eye-ridge arched in mild confusion. "Okay, am I missing something? Cuz I always thought pennies were useless, but from what Donny's told me, you people think you can buy anything with them. I didn't believe him at first, but now I think I'm starting to."

April sighed, blowing away a loose strand of hair in the same breath. "Donatello…" She drew out the name in a feigned groan of annoyance, although the smirk on her lips indicated otherwise. How many times had she tried explaining it to him, again? Not enough, apparently. "I _told_ him they aren't for buying wishes. They're meant to—You know what? Forget it. Long explanation short: 'penny for your thoughts' is an expression that means I want to know what's on your mind."

Raph raised his brow but shrugged dismissively, returning his attention to the television. "Whatever you say, April. And if you really wanna know, it's _this_." He gestured emphatically at the screen. "I mean, what even _is_ that? Because to me, it looks like your country's leader is having a photo op with a turkey."

April's eyes followed Raph's motion toward the television, and she felt her mouth crack into an amused grin at what she saw.

The news channel was currently displaying a live video feed of the president as he gingerly pat a rather impressive turkey. Flaunting a charming smile at the audience, the politician leaned in toward the bird, albeit maintaining a comfortable distance as the creature began to fidget. Lights flashed from numerous cameras. The paparazzi were eating the spectacle up.

"Oh, that?" she asked, a tinge of humor creeping into her voice, "That's just the presidential turkey pardon."

Raphael glanced back at her again, deadpanning. "…You have _got _to be joking."

"Not at all." At the look he gave her, she felt the need to defend herself. "It's just a quirky little tradition the White House has every Thanksgiving. The president basically picks a turkey and pardons it from becoming his dinner. It's supposed to be a gesture of good will, I think."

"Does the guy still have a turkey dinner?"

April's smile faltered. "Well, yeah, but—"

"Then who're they trying to kid? They're just gonna put a different turkey on the chopping block anyway, so why even bother?" Raph watched the president flinch back as the turkey agitatedly ruffled its feathers. In response, several attendants hastily stepped forward to ease the bird back down onto the table as it continued to fuss. He snorted. "Are all humans this hypocritical?"

At this question, April's eyes attained a sly glint. "Just the politicians." Offering him a quick wink, she returned to peeling the potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner.

Allowing himself a small smirk when April had turned away, Raphael picked up the remote and skipped to a new channel with a decisive _click_.

* * *

**I published this Thanksgiving-themed one a little early because this upcoming week is looking to be a busy one. Anyway, happy turkey day! :D For those readers who aren't American: yes, we do have presidential turkey pardons. It's a real thing. And yes, we are weird. I believe Raph thinks so, too. XD**


	4. It's Just an Expression

**A/N: This chapter was inspired by Mystic Medjai and her comment on the "raining cats and dogs" idiom. ;) I encourage you all to check out her fics if you haven't already! She's brilliant. :D Once again, a big thank you and a high-five to all my readers and reviewers! I love hearing your feedback. :) As promised, here's Leo!**

* * *

A thoroughly soaked April stumbled miserably into the Lair. Once again—and certainly not for the last time—she questioned the wisdom of her commute to the sewers. This was where the stuff that she flushed _went_, for Pete's sake! One would think she and the boys could find a better location to meet.

Leo poked his head out from the archway leading to the Lair's kitchen as the squishing of her soggy boots alerted him to her entry. Amusement and sympathy warred for supremacy across his face. "Had a little trouble did we?" He beckoned her over with a smile and a wave of his hand, ducking back into the kitchen.

April scowled as she begrudgingly followed, calling after him, "I could do without the commentary from the Peanut Gallery, thanks." When she entered the room, Leo was already busy rummaging through some cabinets, so she trudged toward the counter. Gracelessly plopping down on a stool, she caught up the fabric of her shirt and wrung it out, the water trickling into a puddle on the ground. The clattering of dishes ceased momentarily. Glancing up, she caught the fleeting look of disgust from her host and defensively amended, "It's not _that_ kind of water, Leo! I promise. It just started raining cats and dogs on my way over, and I forgot my umbrella at home. I couldn't even escape it underground. All the rainwater just drains down here anyway."

Turning back to the counter in poorly concealed relief, Leo set down two mugs and filled each with instant hot chocolate mix. "That's… good to know, April. And I'm afraid you lost me a little earlier. What again do peanuts have to do with all this?" He filled the mugs with water from a jug, proceeding to place them in a crude microwave assembled from a mishmash of salvaged electronic parts—clearly Don's work. As he punched in the time settings on a panel that suspiciously resembled the keypad of a phone, he added absently, "And I don't pretend to be Donatello, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't _rain_ animals..."

April paused while wringing out her hair, trying to understand what could have possibly inspired his odd comments. Leo was usually the more sensible one. She expected talk of flying animals from Mikey, maybe, but not—_OH_. "You're kidding," she chuckled, finally catching up with his train of thought.

Leo claimed a stool beside her and studied her earnestly. "About the peanuts or the animals?" The thrum of the microwave occupied the brief silence.

"Both!" she replied, voice threatening light-hearted laughter. "Honestly, Leo. Don't tell me you've never heard of either of those expressions before."

He merely shrugged in response.

April grinned, explaining patiently, "'Peanut Gallery commentary' is basically commentary that you don't appreciate or want to hear from people. Like how a certain someone thought it necessary to point out that I was wet when the fact was painfully obvious to begin with." She arched her brow pointedly before continuing. "And if it's raining cats and dogs, then it's _really _pouring outside. It has nothing to do with actual cats and dogs." April shook her head, her eyes slightly perplexed. "I just find it hard to believe that you guys have lived here your entire lives and _still_ have never heard of half of the things I bring up."

Leo rocked in his seat a little, growing slightly self-conscious of his ignorance as it was laid bare before him. "It's not so easy, April. If my brothers and I had grown up under ordinary conditions, then I'd understand why you'd think that, but as it is we're anything _but_ ordinary… No need to catch my raised foot."

April had begun to sheepishly avert her eyes at the truth in his words, but then something he said gave her pause. "Wait, what do you mean, 'catch my raised foot'?"

"You know…" Leo trailed off matter-of-factly, vaguely waving his hand in the air, "…to point out my mistakes or jump on my flaws."

April scrunched up her face. "No… I don't know."

He regarded her contemplatively. "Maybe I translated it wrong…?"

His train of thought once again threw her off. "…Translated it wrong?" she repeated uncertainly. Did she miss something? Because now _she_ was the one who was lost.

Leo folded his hands on the counter as he supplied, "Well, in Japanese, the expression is '_age ashi wo toru_." His voice lilted in an exotic, and perfectly authentic, accent. "But in English, it's roughly translated as 'to catch a raised foot.'" He crossed his arms as he thoughtfully continued. "I might be a little off, though. Some meaning may be lost in context if—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on." Finally finding her voice, April cut him off, signaling her hands in a _time-out_ gesture, "You speak _Japanese_?"

The look of mild surprise that flitted across his face was an answer in and of itself. "Of course we do! Master Splinter raised us, and he _is_ Japanese, after all. You could say English is really our second language."

Right... How could she have overlooked that little detail? The idea just never really occurred to her until now. "Wild…" April murmured, her piqued interest mingled with fresh admiration for her unique green friends. "So you're all fluent, then?" She edged in closer, propping her elbow on the counter and perching her chin on her upturned palm.

Leo felt his chest swell a fraction with pride despite his best efforts to remain humble. The microwave beeped. "Yeah, we're fluent," he replied offhandedly, jumping down from his stool and retrieving the steaming mugs. "As for English, sensei taught us what he knew from his days living here prior to our mutation. We filled in any gaps with what we could pick up from reading or watching TV."

April gratefully accepted the drink, cradling the mug in her clammy hands. So the guys were bilingual now, and she could barely manage a coherent sentence in Spanish. "Okay, I'll admit that's impressive." She arched her eyebrow at him and smirked. "You know what this means?"

Leo's eyes fixed upon her questioningly.

"It looks like we _both_ still have a lot to learn."

A grin cracked across Leo's face. "I'd say so," he replied.

Smiling, April took a careful sip of her hot chocolate and pursed her lips when a wad of congealed mix lodged in her throat. From what she could observe, Leo was contentedly drinking from his own mug, unaware of the necessity to stir its contents before serving.

With no small effort she choked back her gag reflex and swallowed, setting the drink aside with the silent resolution to make her own hot chocolate from then on.

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**A/N: I wrote this chapter because everyone is guilty of feeling superior (whether they openly admit it or not) to those who don't know their culture. Until that person finds him- or herself equally ignorant of other cultures. Then we get one step closer to to a little thing called humility. :)**


	5. Puberty

**A/N: I had one reviewer ask me a good question that is relevant to this chapter. What series am I writing for, exactly? Honestly, I didn't set out with either 2k3 or 2k12 in mind at first. When I wrote the first chapter, I read back over it and decided it could be interpreted from either perspective since it was so short. Same for the others (Donny had an implicit crush on April in 2k3, so chapter 2 still works in that regard). There are certainly chapters that may lean more toward one series than another, but it was still up to the reader's discretion, so I let it be. However, some chapters I plan on writing in the future will _have_ to be set in a specific series because certain cultural elements are targeted toward adults, so I'd need adult humans. Likewise, some cultural elements are more teenager-based, and I will write from a 2k12 perspective for those with a teenage April (maybe even Casey, when he shows up in the series. This fic looks like it's going to go on for a while, at least). I'll be sure to let you know when I have a specific series in mind. Otherwise, you can choose whichever series suits the chapter best for you.**

**This chapter is set in the 2k12 series. As always, TMNT isn't mine, but I do enjoy tampering with it. Enjoy! :D  
**

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Her laptop tucked snuggly under one arm, April hopped the turnstiles as if the motion were the most natural thing in the world now, scanning the Lair for any sign of purple as she ambled into the living room. Instead, she spotted red.

"Hey, Raph," she announced absently, her eyes still searching elsewhere as she headed toward him.

A brief glance and noncommittal grunt were Raphael's acknowledgment as he ruffled the leaves of his magazine, turning a page.

She smirked. "I'm great, thanks." In a short bound, April jumped down into the pit and settled on the bench beside him, balancing her laptop on her knees. "Have you seen Donny? I texted him when I was coming down, but he hasn't responded yet. He's usually pretty quick to get back to me, too."

"I'll bet he is," Raph quipped cryptically behind the cover of his magazine. "Haven't seen him for a while, though."

April frowned, turning her attention to her computer. "All right. I'll go find him in just a minute then," she replied, lifting the screen and powering the laptop on. The device hummed as its systems booted up, filling the silence. Silence. "Where's Mikey?" An afterthought later, she added, "And Leo?" It would have been relatively peaceful with or without Leo. She just asked to be thorough.

"Out. They're getting the pizza tonight," Raph answered mechanically. Without looking up from his reading, he reached over and playfully ruffled her bangs. "Hope you're up for pepperoni again, squirt."

April grinned and withdrew from his rough touch, elbowing him in the side in retaliation. Flipping her bangs out of her face with a jerk of her head, she deftly tapped out her password, and the laptop whirred away on another flurry of activity. Idly drumming her fingers on the keyboard, she stole another quick glance around the living room while she waited.

Regarding April, Raphael dog-eared his page and set the magazine aside. With a hearty sigh, he stood and stretched his arms above his head, cracking his neck to one side. "Here. I'll get Einstein and be right back."

Eyes never leaving the monitor, April brought up a document and quickly skimmed it, mumbling offhandedly, "Don't worry about it. I'll find him in another minute."

"Nah, I needed something to do, anyway. Do I want to know why you need him?"

"Not really." She shrugged, crossing her legs and settling back into her seat as she shot an appreciative smirk in Raph's direction. "I was just hoping he could look over my physics lab report before I turn it in tomorrow. I need another opinion; my aunt couldn't follow too well when she tried to critique it."

"If you wrote it, then I don't blame her."

Raph was turning to leave when Don emerged from his lab right on cue, bent over a blueprint he carried while shuffling toward the kitchen on autopilot.

"Yo, Donny!" Raph called from the pit, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at April. "April's here, and she wants to talk with you."

At the sound of his name, Donatello glanced up vacantly.

Even from a distance, April could tell just by the way Don held himself that several thoughts and projects were simultaneously competing for his attention.

It wasn't until Donatello noticed April in return that he focused on his surroundings at hand. When he did, his body tensed mid-step and a mortified squeak strangled from his chest, wide eyes locked on April in terror. He hastily lifted the blueprint, hiding his face as his voice cracked shrilly, "Oh! Uh, _hi_, April!" A harried jumble of words followed as Don mumbled a rapid explanation from behind the paper, his vocabulary growing increasingly more advanced in his distress as he edged closer to the entrance to his lab. "Sorry I didn't return your text as soon as I should have it was inconsiderate and I sincerely apologize but I was in a quandary about the apposite measure regarding—oh, my mistake I think I left a Bunsen burner on I'll be right back!" Still concealed behind his blueprint, he stumbled backward and ducked into his lab, slamming the door shut behind him.

After staring blankly at the spot where her friend had retreated, April aimed a questioning look at Raphael.

Raph merely shrugged, flopping back down on the couch. "I don't know, and I don't want to know."

"Aren't you going to at least check on him to make sure he's okay?"

Resuming his place in his magazine, Raph retorted passively, "It's Donny. I gave up on 'okay' long ago. Don't worry; he'll come out. He has to eat eventually."

'Eventually' came sooner than expected.

Several minutes later, Don reemerged from his lab in a baggy gray sweat suit, looking decidedly anxious as he meekly joined them on the couch. He had pulled the hood of the jacket low over his face and drawn the strings tight, allowing only his masked eyes to peer through the remaining gap. If his getup wasn't enough to raise eyebrows, Donny used a cushion as a barrier to keep himself distanced from April—odd, given his preference to sit beside her at every opportunity.

April and Raph exchanged a look, at which Raph merely rolled his eyes with a snort and resumed reading.

Reluctantly shifting her focus back to Donatello, April cleared her throat and ventured carefully, "Uh, Donny? Are you—?"

"Never better!" Don's muffled voice cut her off from within the confines of his sweatshirt. Wincing when the last word cracked on an exceptionally high note, he reached out for April's laptop with a little too much enthusiasm—even for Donatello. "Let's have a look at that lab report."

April watched his hands seize the computer, her sharp eyes flashing with concern when something caught her attention. Before Donatello could gauge her reaction, much less respond, she had seized his wrist, eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Don flinched and attempted to pull his arm from her grip, but April only tightened her hold. "Don!" she gasped, "What's wrong with your _hand_?"

The ordinarily healthy, green scaly skin was peeling off in thin discolored sheets—the entirety of his hand a motley hue ranging from its usual bright olive to patches of sickly gray film.

Don jerked his hand out of her grasp as if her touch had burned him, defensively clutching it to his chest. "What? Oh, _that_? It's… nothing," he stammered, eyes darting to some spot on the floor by his feet.

Raph looked up in mild interest, passively studying Don's hand as something clicked in his head, manifesting itself as a glint of recognition in his eyes. "Is _that_ what you're all worked up over? Geez, Don. She's going to find out someday. It may as well be now." Apparently not disturbed by his brother's condition in the least, Raph ducked back behind his magazine with a glazed expression.

"Find out what?" April looked uncertainly between the two as Don delivered a sharp glare at his brother.

Raph smirked, supplying vaguely as he continued to read, "Donny's growing up."

"Shut up," Don muttered, miserably pulling his hands into his sleeves to hide the peeling skin.

For a few moments, neither turtle said anything as April patiently waited for an explanation. When no immediate answer came, she ground out a frustrated sigh. Enough was enough. They were deliberately keeping her in the dark now, which didn't help ease her anxiety any. It also frankly bothered her that Don didn't want to trust her with the truth. What, did he think she couldn't take it? She'd dealt with weirder stuff before. "Would one of you two idiots _please_ give me a straight answer? What's wrong with Don?"

Don fidgeted under April's stern gaze as it was turned on him in full force, not quite meeting her eyes. Steeling his nerves under her scrutiny, he managed to mumble, "Well, you see, April… Under natural circumstances, turtles must compensate for—"

"Oh, for the love of!" Raph reached over and unceremoniously jerked back the hood of Donny's sweatshirt, revealing Don's shocked face.

April couldn't stifle the horrified gasp that escaped her.

Don's entire face was flaking just as his hand was—the skin a patchwork of tones and textures. In some places it was loose, the gray film of dead skin threatening to break and peel. In other areas, the skin was clean and fresh, the olive green it sported more vibrant than the one she had previously known. Collectively, his face in its present state would rival a Halloween mask. April's startled expression implied as much.

Then she focused on Don's eyes and felt a bitter stab of guilt at the deeply wounded expression he briefly wore. What made her feel worse was when Don's eyes locked with hers; he quickly smothered his heartache and replaced it with a humorless smile.

"Yeah, it's not real pretty to look at, huh?" he weakly jested, his eyes still betraying his acute dejection as they shifted away.

Don's eyes were so expressive in fact, that April could almost _hear_ him adding as an afterthought in his own head "_Both now and before…_" Her face instantly grew hot with shame. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Nice going, O'Neil._ These careless little slip-ups happened far too often than she would like.

Mentally berating herself for allowing her reaction to get the better of her, April felt her abrupt anger with herself unexpectedly manifest as anger toward Don. How _could_ he have such a low opinion of himself? And based on his looks, of all things! The catty girls she dealt with in high school based worth on appearance, and here Don was letting the same thing get to him. Don: the pragmatic one! As sheltered as he was from society, he was still just as prone to its stupid, shallow rules as everybody else.

"Don't say that, you jerk!" she suddenly blurted, punching a surprised Donatello in the arm. "You look just fine, and even if you were the ugliest buttmunch on the planet—which you _aren't_—I'd still rather hang with you than some tool with the face of a model. Know why? Because they're all half-witted numbskulls who can't keep up a decent conversation without trying to get in your pants first, and you're a full-witted numbskull who actually cares." Drawing another breath, she continued. "Also, it's nothing you can help. At least," she hesitated now, slowly reigning in her indignant anger, "I don't think?"

Don could only blink as he stared, for once at a loss for words. Even Raph had lifted his head above his magazine to study April, his brow raised.

Finally recovering from his shock at her tirade—enough at least to snap his slackened jaw shut—Don shook his head as a smile quirked his face. Finding his voice, he rasped, "No. We can't. It's—I'm just…" and here he shifted in his seat, appearing distinctly out of place as he ground out with no small effort, "…shedding."

April's brow arched in surprise, glancing at Raph, whose face remained grimly impassive.

Looking decidedly uncomfortable now, Don quickly explained, "In ordinary turtles, shedding is stimulated by growth, among other causes. As a rule of thumb, turtles routinely shed once a year. I'm still trying to discern in what ways our mutation has changed us, and in what ways it hasn't. In this regard, at least, we're still largely consistent." Having spoken his piece, Don timidly looked down, busying himself with brushing a few flakes of dead skin from his lap in disgust. "And as much as I love consistency," he added, adopting a tinge of repulsion in his voice, "in this case I wouldn't have minded being inconsistent."

"Well there you go!" April offered encouragingly. "It's a natural process, so there's no shame in it."

Donatello looked unconvinced, but he nodded all the same, humming distractedly. Even then, he still pulled his hood back up and tightened the drawstrings.

April turned to Raph for a little support, but he had already dismissed the conversation for his magazine.

That did it. She had had it up to here with her friends' stupid 'monster' complex, and since she was already more than a little angry, she may as well use it to her advantage. "You boneheads." Without another thought, April began doggedly scrubbing her face with her sleeve. Up by her hairline. Her nose. Her cheeks. Her chin.

Raph looked up from his magazine again, catching and sharing Don's bewildered expression.

"You guys think _you're_ ugly? You think puberty's rough on _you_?" she muttered, whether to herself or the guys remained to be seen. "You want to play _that_ game? Well, challenge accepted!" With a final flourish, she swiped the last of her makeup from her face, satisfied by the pale stain on her black sleeve. Turning to face Don and Raph, she set her jaw and pushed her bangs back, exposing her full face for all to see. "Top _that_, boys."

Don and Raph both leaned closer, eyes wide, as they took in the sheer number of zits dotting April's face.

"Where did all that even come from?" Raph marveled, eyes darting to the makeup coating her sleeve. "Did you just rub off your _skin_?"

Scrunching his brow in concern, Don's face was deathly solemn. "April. Do you have a skin disease? Is it serious? What are you even doing here? You need to go see a physician immediately!"

Much to both turtles' surprise, April actually laughed. "It's not a skin condition, you dorks. It's acne: the human teenager's equivalent to shedding, I guess. And this—" she held up her sleeve and pointed at the makeup matter-of-factly, "—isn't skin. It's makeup. Kinda like… everyday camouflage." Turning to Don, she continued, "You're behind the times, Donny. Where you try to hide puberty underneath a sweat suit, human teenagers have got hiding their physical imperfections down to a _science_." Pointing an insistent finger at the acne generously dotting her face, she added, "And for the record, compared to this, you look like a freaking Greek god right now. Don't even talk to me about ugly."

Studying Donatello closely for a tense moment—waiting for his reaction—April was rewarded by the look of bemused relief that washed over Donny's face as he slowly cracked a gap-toothed grin. "You call _that_ ugly? Hardly. When it peels in gray flakes, then I'll listen."

And there it was: absolution for the harm she had caused. Though she wouldn't soon forget the pained look that she had inflicted on Donny's face, she was glad in a way. It would be a lesson for her to reserve judgment in the future.

But now, April smiled genuinely in return, retorting back at her friend, "Oh, really? They may not _peel_, buddy, but they sure can _pop_." For good measure, she decided to gross Donny out, too. He had practically challenged her, anyway. And she always accepted a challenge.

Feeling around her face for a zit, April allowed a sinister smirk to play across her face when she found a juicy one. Relishing in Don's puzzled expression for a moment—he had _no _idea what was coming, the poor sap—she pinched the zit and watched in satisfaction as it popped, the pus spurting out and splattering Don's plastron.

Don squawked something in Japanese and recoiled in disgust, falling over and scrambling back on the couch—his eyes locked on the goo sticking to his chest with a sick mixture of revulsion and fascination.

April fell back laughing. "You-You should have seen your _face_!" she gasped through chuckles, smacking her forehead, "Priceless! Oh, man…"

Raph was cracking up, too, magazine forgotten. "Dude, what was that _sound_? I don't even think _Mikey_ could scream at that pitch."

"I didn't _scream_." Donny scowled at his brother, his mouth twisting into an unsettling grin. "Oh, you think it's funny, do you?" Swiping his finger down his front, Don collected the pus and wiped it off on Raph's arm. "Have some, then."

The response was immediate. Raphael's laughter ceased and his face grew deathly serious as he looked first at the goo on his arm, then Donatello, tsking, "Poor choice, Donatello." With all the delicacy of a battering ram, Raph launched himself at his brother and tackled him to the floor, wrapping him in a headlock.

April scooted to the edge of the bench, watching placidly as the brothers grappled. "As I was saying, Donny," she chirped in, "I've cornered the market on gross. Shedding doesn't beat pus projectiles."

Twisting his body, Don kneed Raph in the gut while retorting evenly, "Ah, but shedding cannot be contained or controlled. Those blemishes don't pop unless induced to. So I believe I am, in fact, the more disgusting individual."

"Ladies, ladies," Raph interrupted with a wry grin as he pulled Don's hood over his eyes, "I know we all can't be as beautiful as yours truly, but that doesn't mean we sell ourselves short. You two have…" He trailed off in mock-contemplation before switching to a sickeningly sappy tone as he finished, "…great _personalities_."

"Famous last words, Raphael," April cautioned, rising from her seat and rolling up her sleeves. "Tag me in, Don. It's time we set a certain funny turtle straight." Laughing, she dove into the fray, putting all her kunoichi—and maybe more than a little WWE—know-how to use.

Why did she come down here again? She couldn't even remember anymore.


End file.
